


Sitting on the branches of my family tree

by mentosmorii



Series: Bonds thicker than blood [2]
Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Discussions of mental illness, F/F, not dark though? in a healing way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 21:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18558052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentosmorii/pseuds/mentosmorii
Summary: A look into the effects of family legacy. Takes place soon after the seventh book and explores the Butler-Fowl family dynamics





	Sitting on the branches of my family tree

Artemis was currently sitting alone in the kitchen at three in the morning. He didn’t quite know when he’d officially decided he wasn’t going up to bed, but one way or another he had found himself sitting in the gloom of the downstairs.

The room was dim, as Butler had turned off the hall lights before he’d retired for the evening sometime late the previous night. The only thing illuminating the kitchen was the faint, warm glow of the metal hot plate that was keeping the water in the kettle at a low boil.

Artemis frowned. He looked down at the cup of earl grey he’d been nursing for the past half hour. Probably too cold to enjoy properly at this point, he sighed.

Faint ripples formed in what tea remained at the bottom of the mug, and he furrowed his brow. That was odd. Straining his ears, he glanced at the entrance to the kitchen apprehensively.

Sure enough, coming slowly down the grand staircase was Juliet. Artemis blinked, eyes flickering back to the old clock on the wall.

Interesting.

“Either you’re up extraordinarily early,” he remarked as she tried to slink into the kitchen as quietly as she could. “Or you’ve stayed up rather late.”

Anyone else would’ve jumped at such a surprise, but Juliet merely tensed. Years of the Blue Diamond training program had left her with nerves of steel.

Turning to face him slowly, she gave him an appraising look.

“Hey,” she said carefully.

“Hello,” he responded, amused.

Silence settled over the room.

“I always suspected that you stalked around the house at night, Artemis,” she snorted after a moment. “Relaxing too much a waste of your time?”

“You make me out to be almost sinister, Juliet. I’m afraid this is just a rather mundane example of my insomnia flaring up,” he waved her off, getting up to move to the stove top. “Do you want any of the tea I was making?”

She took a seat on one of the barstools by the main table. “Tea? If you’re either constantly on a caffeine drip or are staring at a screen all the time, then I don’t think you have insomnia. You’re just a workaholic.”

“Clinically so,” Artemis murmured, flicking off the burner. “I take it you don’t want any, then?” he called out over his shoulder.

“Nah, I want some — I’ll take whatever you have that’s decaf and fruity,” she crossed her arms on the counter and rested her chin on them.

He wrinkled his nose, taking the kettle off the burner to pour the steaming water into his cup. Opening the cabinet above the stove, he reached for another cup, the cool china of the mug soothing against his skin. He placed a tea bag at the bottom of the new cup, watching a vibrant ruby diffuse through the water as the tea steeped. In contrast, his earl grey was a richer color, almost caramel.

Fingers curling around the warmth of the cups, he brought the two mugs over to the table. Juliet perked up, reaching for her cup. She let the steam waft up, coiling around her face, and she smiled warmly, closing her eyes. 

“It smells like strawberries.”

Artemis took a sip of his earl grey. “It most likely has _some_ strawberry in it. It’s the berry mix that Barry’s carries. The box is described as a refreshing blend of ‘red’ berries,” he made air-quotes.

“I can certainly taste the red, so I’d give it full marks,” she held it up approvingly, putting on what Artemis assumed was meant to be a parody of his affectation.

“On your way to being a tea sommelier, I see.” 

“ _Mayhaps_. Also, yours better be decaf,” she shot a pointed look at his cup.

“You’re hardly in the position to speak about maintaining good sleep habits — you were wandering about the halls as well,” he reminded her, deliberately taking another sip of his tea.

She flushed. “I _was_ asleep. It’s not my fault I woke up and wanted to stretch my legs. Also, you’re not _wandering_ if you’re walking about with purpose.”

“Did Ko tell you that?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Nope. I heard it from some pageant mum during the tryouts for the Miss Sugar Beet Fair.”

“In what context?”

“I caught her nicking stuff from the other ladies’ purses in the cubby area,” she remarked airily. 

Surprised, he laughed. “I admire her panache. Very Fowl-esque of her.”   

“You can’t trademark being a conman that puts on airs, Artemis,” she rolled her eyes. “Mulch does the same shit, and I’m pretty sure he’s been around for at least three generations of Fowls.”

“I would disagree,” he stirred his tea. “At the risk of sounding egotistical, Diggums falls more into the category of being a petty crook than he does into the category of being a criminal mastermind.”

“ _Oh,_ really? We can ask him which one of us he agrees with if you want, Artemis,” she leaned forward, smug. “He’s been squatting in the cellar for about a month now.”

Artemis sighed. “I’ve been trying to actually catch a glimpse of him down there so that I can tell him to leave,” he said glumly. “I _know_ he’s down there siphoning wine out of the casks, but he’ll surely argue that I’m just going mad if I attempt to kick him out over a phone call.”

“I thought you said he was _just_ a petty crook,” she widened her eyes. “Shouldn’t a _‘criminal mastermind’_ be able to handle evicting some random—“

“You’ve made your point,” he huffed.

“Gotcha!” she grinned.    

“Congratulations, Juliet, on successfully defending Mulch’s no doubt _fragile_ self-esteem. I have no idea how he would manage to enjoy our vintages were he to know I referred to his escapades as ‘petty’.”  

Juliet shrugged. “Eh, wine is wine at the end of the day. You don’t even _drink_ , Artemis.”

“Not all wine is created equal,” he argued, steepling his fingers. Sensing he was gearing up to give a spiel, Juliet huffed.

“Take for example the ‘87 Merlot — a wine which I suspect he has already sampled in excess,” Artemis began. “To call it a work of art would be to sell it short. Mulch is free to skim off the top of some of the lesser vintages, but I would appreciate if he would stay away from the quality wines that make up our rather _expensive_ collection in the cellar.” Artemis sniffed, lazily swirling the remains of his tea.

Juliet snorted, resting her chin on her palm. “Nice speech. I was very moved by the ‘work of art’ bit.”

At this, the sides of Artemis’ mouth quirked upwards. “I have to defend it on principle. It was produced in an odd year, after all. Those always produce the best grapes.”

The young Butler rolled her shoulders a bit, her weight shifting in the chair as she stretched. Reaching up, her right hand tucked back a loose strand of hair that had fallen out of the messy bun she’d put her hair up in before bed. “That sounds like rich bullshit. No way.”

Artemis snickered, bowing his head in concession. “You’re right. It is.”

Juliet grinned. “Knew it. Where’d you hear that bit about the odd versus even years?”

He leaned back in his chair, his grip tight on the fading warmth of his cup. “Oh, it would’ve been a while ago. I thought it was so funny when I first heard about that rule,” he smiled fondly. “The Abbey Theatre was running Six Degrees of Separation. I remember pleading with mother to take me to see one of the performances — the press had just run a piece calling it obscene — and eventually, she relented. I was probably the youngest person in the theatre that night,” he chuckled.

As if lost in the memory, Artemis closed his eyes, his expression pensive. “There was one scene where the character Paul, a conman, was leading a young man around New York City. They went to the Rainbow Room to dine, and Paul told his companion that there was a secret trick rich people use when ordering wine: universally, the wines produced in the odd years are considered to be better. I remember there were titters in the audience —wine tasting _is_ often based more on evaluating a bottle through a formula of factors than it is about the taste, and even the couples with cellars filled with vintages worth _thousands_ of euros could have a bit of a laugh at that.”

Artemis opened his eyes, the whites flashing in the dim light. “But you see, it’s not a commonly held belief that odd year vintages taste better than even years. He’d made the rule up.”

Juliet blinked. “So?” she furrowed her brow. “It sounds close enough to some of the stuff I’ve heard people say about wine at the parties your mum throws.”

“True, but it wasn’t even one of the _myths_ about wine!” Artemis leaned forward earnestly. “That night, the actor playing Paul said this _particular_ line so _assuredly_ that you believed he’d heard this straight from the mouth of an old money wine aficionado — at that moment, his compatriot melted away,  and we replaced him. Paul had turned his charm on the audience, stringing us all along,” his voice became quiet. 

Tilting his head so that he was gazing at Juliet directly,  Artemis opened his mouth as if to say something before he closed it, frowning slightly. Worrying the inside of his cheek, he tried to formulate his next sentence. He almost chuckled at that. It wasn’t often that he was at a loss for words.

“Sometimes… sometimes I hear someone at a restaurant jump a little _too_ quickly to choose the odd-year wine,”  he said finally. “Sometimes, I hear what sounds like a touch of smugness in a couple’s tone when they turn down an even-year vintage. It’s possible I’m imagining it, but I do wonder. I wonder now and then if they saw that play — maybe not on that night, maybe not in that theatre — and _believed._ ”

With that, Artemis sighed, finally placing his teacup gently on the table. By now, the smooth surface of the china was cool to the touch.

Juliet let one of her hands fall from her chin to the table, flexing her fingers in thought. “You know,” she began slowly. “I think I’ve seen a bit of Six Degrees.”

Artemis started, shoulders rising. “Oh?”

She nodded. “I’m pretty sure. I think they made it into a movie a while back. Will Smith was in it.”

Artemis stared at Juliet in silence, blinking owlishly. “Did… did you like it?”

Juliet puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled, thinking for a moment. “You know,” she began after a moment, locking eyes with Artemis. “I can’t remember.”

That was all it took.

The floodgates were released, and the pair was wracked with laughter.

Artemis couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard that tears had welled in his eyes. He snorted, wiping the wetness on his cheeks away with the palm of his hand.

“You should really be getting to bed,” he said after they’d sobered, crossing his arms on top of the table. Juliet scrunched her face up, stretching in her seat.

“I’m not tired,” she protested.

Artemis cocked his head curiously. “We’ve both been up since sunrise yesterday,” he pointed out. “The skyline is already starting to light up along the water by the cliffs. I know Madame Ko trained you to work during the most extenuating of circumstances, but surely you do need to sleep every now and again.”

“God —you’re such a hypocrite sometimes, you know that?” she prodded his arm with a finger, and he almost winced. “And _I_ wasn’t up since yesterday, okay?” she added, almost as an afterthought.  

He rubbed his shoulder. “Apologies.”

“I wasn’t!” 

“Of course. _Surely_ you weren’t on the phone with your girlfriend from your old wrestling troupe who is around, oh, six hours or so behind our time zone.”

Juliet’s cheeks turned scarlet. “Shut _up,_ Artemis,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment. “Who even told you about her? Was it Dom?”

Artemis shrugged good-naturedly, refusing to comment. She shot him a withering look, finally dragging her hands away from her face. 

“… Practice got out late. Sam forgot that a late practice over there is… early over here.”

“And you picked up the phone when she called anyway? So romantic. What a prophetic name you have, Juliet,” he grinned, and she flushed deeper.   

“I’m not letting someone who skulks around in the dark snark about my long-distance relationship,” Juliet crossed her arms, and it was Artemis’ turn to be defensive.

“I’ve explicitly told you _already_ that I was not ‘skulking’.”

She laughed at that, and the light of the nascent sunrise made it seem as though parts of her blond hair were lit up by a fiery reddish-gold, Artemis thought. Some people were meant to be seen in sunlight, others in the moonlight — Juliet was well suited to the warm light of dawn, a light still full of reds, pinks, and oranges. 

Juliet must have noticed he’d been staring, as she softened.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself if you’re always thinking so hard,” she said offhandedly. Artemis ignored the lump forming in his throat.

“I’m afraid ‘thinking hard’, as you put it, is what I’m built to do.” 

She locked her gaze on him, frowning.

“You can think as much as you want during the day, Artemis,” she reminded him lightly, finally leaning back. “Holing yourself up until you finally have some big breakthrough can very easily turn into pushing people away, and you know it.”

“Ah,” he winced. “I assume that was a thinly-veiled reference to my sending your brother away to Cancún?”

Whether tired or just exasperated, Juliet ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah, genius. Sometimes you’ve gotta slow down a bit so that we can all catch up with you. _Especially_ Dom. The Cancún stuff nearly killed him, you know?” 

He winced. “I know. I shouldn’t have used you as a way to manipulate — I shouldn’t have resorted to manipulating your brother at all,” he amended. “I let my paranoid mind get the better of me, as you said.” 

“It doesn’t make it okay, but it wasn’t totally your fault,” she shook her head. “That’s what made it hurt more for him, in the end. He left to go to me in Cancún even though he knew something was… _off_ with you because he thought I was in danger. Domovoi came after me because he thought his baby sister was in trouble,” she snorted at that. “But it still took the ‘worst case scenario’ to get him to leave you in the first place.”

She fixed him in her gaze. “Even at your lowest point, you knew on some level that it would take an emergency to get him to abandon you when you were hurt, Artemis. Lurking around the house at night so that you can drive yourself up the wall without anyone telling you to knock it off won’t change that. It’ll just make you feel like shit.”

They sat there in silence.

Artemis looked back at her, properly trying to make eye contact this time. “I am trying to get better, you know,” he said after a moment, almost grimacing when he realized how snarky that sounded. Thankfully, Juliet took it in stride.

“I know.”

He looked away, reaching for his forgotten cup of tea. The china was cool again, he found, turning it around between his hands.

“I’ll… try not to lurk around the house, as you put it so bluntly,” he said, only a tad begrudgingly.

She raised an eyebrow. “You won’t do it again, or you won’t get caught again?” 

Artemis paused. “I’ll try not to do it again,” he decided after a moment, surprised to find he was being completely honest. Juliet seemed satisfied at that.

“Cool,” she grinned, beginning to relax once more into her usual easy-going manner.

“I appreciate you talking to me,” he added, tightening his grip on his cup. “You’ve given me much to think about. In a good way,” he smiled.

She beamed at that. Reaching to undo her bun, Juliet shook her head as though she were shaking off rain after coming inside. She must’ve showered before putting it up, as her hair seemed wavier than it usually was, he noted.

“Thanky." 

“I suppose I ought to thank Sam for forgetting the extent to which Ireland is ahead of Mexico,” he mused, and Juliet seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.

“Yeah, you should — I stole a lot of what she’s had to say when I was making my point about isolating yourself and stuff,” she explained slowly.

“Oh?” he furrowed his brow. She waited a moment, seemingly debating how she was going to continue.

“Please. We grew up in the same house, Artemis. I’ve got pretty similar childhood baggage to what you’re probably leafing through. Parent stuff, growing up too soon stuff, normal 20-something stuff, weird 20-something stuff,” she shrugged. “She doesn’t let me mope, but she also like, _sees_ me, you know?”

He regarded her for a moment, considering what she’d said. “You deserve someone like her,” he remarked. She shook her head.

“Not to drop my _slightly-_ older-adult ‘adult wisdom’ on you,” she leaned forward. “But you’re not with someone because you deserve them or because they deserve you. She makes me laugh, she listens…” she trailed off.

“And so you pick up the phone each time,” he finished, and she grinned, tapping her nose.

“You’re starting to get it. It’s both the connection _and_ commitment. We meet each other where we are, and then we move forward together.”

“Connection and commitment,” he echoed her.

“Connection _and_ commitment _and_ a whole bunch of therapy,” Juliet ticked off a finger for each one. He nodded, resting his chin on his hand.

“ _And_ ,” she added, shooting him a look. “Getting to bed at a consistent time.”

He made a face. “Does recovery necessitate giving up all the things that make life worthwhile?”

“My brother has a bunch of WebMD mental health articles printed out all over his room,” she poked him. “And the bits about developing good sleeping habits are all over the pages on the standard treatment for mood disorders. You probably have read the sources the articles cite, though — you don’t get a pass to run yourself into the ground just because you’re smart enough to give a lecture on psychology. Go to bed. The world will still be here when you wake up.”

He was going to say something snide about how he didn’t actually have the luxury of assuming the world would still be there, but he stopped himself. It was too early in the morning to bring up the specters that loomed prominently in his thoughts. Chasing those fears was what had started his spiral in the end, after all.

“Very well. I’d wish you goodnight, but it’s more apt to say good morning at this point,” he ventured, standing up from his seat.  

Juliet rose as well, following in suit.

“Thank _god_ ,” she muttered. “Not that talking through feelings isn’t fantastic, but I was just about ready to toss you over my shoulder and haul you upstairs. I’m _exhausted_.”

Artemis tried not to look too stricken. He has no doubt she was completely serious.

“On a final note,” she sighed, patting down the wrinkles in her nightshirt. “I miss being lovingly suplexed by my wrestler girlfriend,” she complained.

He made a face.

“Come off it — I’m allowed to brag about my jock-centric relationship.”

He grimaced. “You’re a match made in heaven.”

She stuck her tongue out, and he rolled his eyes before starting to make his way over to the stairs. Artemis lingered in the doorway, resting his hand against the smooth frame. “Goodnight, Juliet.”

“Goodnight, Artemis.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Barry’s is good and I’m 100% behind their weirdly ominous product descriptions. The berry blast mix ™ has a strawberry on the box, and I’ve heard that it does indeed taste like some of the red berries that exist. We love accurate advertising in this house, folks!
> 
> On a more serious endnote regarding mental health + this fic: Colfer (in my opinion) dropped the ball a tad in the Atlantis Complex — it felt like Artemis suffering from a comorbidity of various mental illnesses was either reduced to being a joke or made into a point of drama when the plot needed tension. I think Colfer could have expanded on Artemis’ relationship to mental health through Angeline —rather than the plot point being ‘Artemis has mental illness due to magic use (and then this mental illness gets ‘cured’ somewhat after his treatment with Argon)’, I think it might’ve been interesting to explore the implications of Artemis having a mental illness due to a genetic predisposition on Angeline’s side of the family. Based on book one, it seems likely that she suffered from a psychic break when Art Sr. went missing that was exacerbated by a pre-existing condition, such as depression. 
> 
> That’s not to say I’m bashing Colfer or claiming that my interpretation of TAC is ~the Right ™ take~, rather that I’m offering my opinion and hoping some stuff resonates with people. In terms of how *I* interpreted Artemis’ deteriorating mental health in TAC, I approached some of his behavior (pushing Butler away, becoming paranoid that his peers/loved ones secretly despise him, throwing himself into his work so that he can ‘prove’ that he’s still got his edge, etc) through the lens of “yo, this kinda sounds like depression a bit” and jumped off from there (in regards to the parts of the Atlantis complex that are more in line with D.I.D., I didn’t explore that much here because I’d want to be waaay more educated on the subject before even attempting to broach the topic within my writing). 
> 
> Of course, many of the symptoms I listed could be interpreted as symptoms for a whole bunch of different conditions, too, so if you had a different take in a fic/post you wrote, hit me up so I can check it out! The whole ‘sitting in the dark and having an existential crisis about how oh god, did i sacrifice my childhood for academia? do i even know how to have friends? how to be normal?’ scene at the beginning with Artemis is actually lifted from my own experiences with mental health — it’s all well and easy to realize that the little voice in your head that told you to wallow in grand, purple prose laden thoughts is ridiculous while in the company of friends and the light of day, but it’s all too easily to get caught up in your thoughts at night. 
> 
> Even as someone who prefers solitude, having someone to talk to that can force you to not get caught up in the doom and gloom of your thoughts is important. There is a big difference between being an introvert and isolating yourself unhealthily, after all. Humans are a social species — even texting someone, forcing your pet to form a pillow fortress with you, or calling someone to hear another voice is a coping mechanism that helps ground you when mental illness destabilizes you. 
> 
> Much smarter people than I have talked about mental health in the context of Artemis already, and although I wrote what I know, depression, there are a bunch of authors/artists in the fandom that have explored similar narratives challenging some of the pseudo-sciencey elements of the story arcs surrounding mental health — even if those authors/artists decide to ultimately keep ‘Atlantis complex’ as his diagnosis! 
> 
> Much love, and a happy April break to those who also have school holiday right now :)


End file.
